


whenever I’m alone with you

by Luthor



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU, F/F, Mentions Of Infidelity, au: no walkers, idk man i've had this in my head for so long, not almost-smut enough to be M but watch out?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 13:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2583725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthor/pseuds/Luthor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t think you want to leave,” Andrea says quietly, and Michonne’s eyes narrow. “You look about as lonely as I feel. You don’t want to be alone tonight, and neither do I.”</p>
<p>Michonne drops her gaze, and Andrea watches curiously as she tips her head back and finishes off her first bottle.</p>
<p>“Maybe I don’t.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	whenever I’m alone with you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reina/gifts).



> I can't stop listening to Adele's Lovesong and it's ~doing things~ to me. Most noticeably, it's spurred on this entire AU Michandrea piece, mostly written in one go, so... be careful, I guess? And enjoy, maybe?
> 
> (Title comes from the aforementioned song. Please someone just put me out of my misery this ship h u r t s.)

whenever I’m alone with you (you make me feel like I am clean again)

 

Michonne lingers outside the apartment. It’s five stories high, at least, and on the side of town that she doesn’t often find herself with a reason to be in. She eyes the buzzers for the rooms, idly finding #16 on the metal grate. She can still turn around, she figures, and even shifts to look back over one shoulder.

_Nothing for me out there tonight_ , she thinks, and turns herself over to the half-hearted invitation to the dinner party that she has no real right to attend.

Dinner party is probably overdressing it, though, if what Daryl had said is true. Nothing but old friends catching up and drinking booze, he’d told her, and Michonne isn’t in the mood to be alone tonight. He’d said no one would mind her attending, and Michonne has allowed herself to believe him, despite her better judgement.

She presses the buzzer for #16 – _to hell with it_ – and isn’t surprised when she’s given instant admission into the building. Lawyer, Daryl had said. With a place like this, Michonne figures whoever their host is, she’s doing something right.

The interior is pristine, but Michonne doesn’t linger long. She finds the door she’s looking for with ease. The silver 16 is as polished as every other reflective surface within the building; Michonne sees her own face staring back at her, distorted where the metal has been bent, and it almost unnerves her into turning around.

But that’s when the door opens. A make-upped blonde woman appears, smiling bemusedly, and asks, “Can I help you?”

Michonne tries to see past her, but the woman blocks her sight with an easy step to the left.

“Daryl.”

She says it with the ease of handing back an invitation, and sees recognition cross the woman’s eyes. Then the woman’s looking around her, and Michonne gets an uneasy feeling in her shoulders.

“He mentioned he might have a plus-one. He’s not with you?”

“He’s not here?”

Wrinkles form in the corners of the woman’s eyes, and Michonne just about keeps from clenching her fists. Goddamn redneck. Of course he’d invite her to a party that he had no intention of showing up at.

Without another word, Michonne turns to leave. Apparently, that’s bad manners.

“Hey, where are you going?” Michonne stops, vaguely incredulous, and pivots around again to see the woman in the doorway. “There’s a chance he’ll show,” she says. “Besides, I have booze to get through – a lot of it. You’re welcome to help.”

Michonne knows she should just walk away.

The apartment sounds empty over the docile tones of Adele’s latest album, but the blonde woman in the doorway looks almost as desperate for company as Michonne feels. That kind of loneliness makes you do stupid things. Michonne should know; she can feel it in the urge to slip out of this place and find a bar – find someone willing enough to come back to her place and be gone again before she falls asleep.

But the woman looks _desperate_ , and Michonne feels miserable, and if the party ends up with just the two of them, well… maybe she’ll have no need for that bar, after all.

“What do you drink?” the woman asks when Michonne finally turns fully towards her.

“What do you have?”

 

The woman’s name, she discovers, is Andrea Harrison. She hands it over as freely as she does a bottle of Bud, and stares at Michonne, mildly amused, until she gives some form of identification.

“Michonne,” she says it like she’s cataloguing it for later. “How did you meet Daryl?”

“We crossed paths.”

“Those must have been some dodgy paths.”

Michonne deadpans her back, and Andrea clears her throat. She takes a sip from her own bottle of Budweiser and moves into the living room, where Michonne follows her. There’s little colour in this room, bar the polished wooden floor beneath her feet, but the fake candles flickering around the room give the place a pretence of softness.

Michonne’s had worse company in much worse places, she figures, and takes a seat; the leather sofa squeaks beneath her and she takes another sip from her drink to subdue the awkwardness.

“Four people I invited, and the only person to show up wasn’t among them,” Andrea huffs as she sits down on the other, smaller sofa. She sends Michonne a look that’s part apology, part weariness. “Shows who your true friends are, huh?”

“Daryl mentioned it was last minute.”

“Mm.”

“Then you can’t really blame people—” Michonne starts to say, but Andrea cuts her _a look_ , and she figures that she hasn’t got the patience to get into anything tonight. She shrugs her shoulders, conceding her point, and takes another drink. At least there’s no sign of the alcohol running out.

“Daryl’s never mentioned you before,” Andrea says, still watching the other woman. “Are you two new friends?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Oh?”

Michonne holds her gaze through another small sip, nothing more to add to the conversation.

Andrea watches her, intrigued and mildly amused with her quiet house quest, and brings the lip of her own bottle to her mouth. Michonne is drinking like there’s something to repress – furiously, like she can drown it out – and Andrea doubts that she’s going to be able to keep up with her, at this rate.

“You’re from the area?”

“Close enough.”

“Work?”

“Sure.”

“Family?”

“Why you so interested?”

“Because you’re so—” she gestures to Michonne with one hand, “quiet. It’s unsettling. It makes me want to know more about you. And, I mean, I have essentially invited a stranger into my home. You can hardly blame me for wanting to know something about you.”

“You know something about me,” Michonne offers, shrugging and sipping at her beer.

“Yeah, ‘friend of Daryl’ doesn’t come with the highest regard – no offence.”

Michonne sighs and pitches herself forward, shaking her head. “So throw me out,” she says, and levels Andrea with a look that says she wouldn’t care either way. Maybe Andrea would believe it, if she couldn’t detect the frustration just beneath the surface of Michonne’s careful façade.

“I don’t think you want to leave,” Andrea says quietly, and Michonne’s eyes narrow. “Shit, look at us. You look about as lonely as I feel. You don’t want to be alone tonight, and neither do I.”

Michonne drops her gaze, and Andrea watches curiously as she tips her head back and finishes off her first bottle.

“Maybe I don’t.”

Andrea opens her mouth to ask if she’d like another beer, when her phone starts buzzing from the arm of the sofa she’s sitting on. It’s her turn to be studied, now, as she peels over to see the screen. With little more than the setting of her lips into a grim line, she silences the call and sits back. All of this Michonne watches silently, legs planted firmly apart and the bottle dangling from her fingers between them.

“That wasn’t one of your friends,” she says, and Andrea shakes her head. “Boyfriend?”

“There is no boyfriend.”

Michonne nods her head, and Andrea drains her bottle. She finishes with a wince and a deep sigh and offers Michonne a faint smirk as she stands, heading for the kitchen.

“What about you?” she asks on the way. “Boyfriend?” Her head bobs into view around the door, two bottles and a bottle opener in hand. “Girlfriend?”

“Neither,” Michonne says, taking one of the bottles and holding it up for Andrea to pop the cap off.

When Andrea next takes a seat, it’s on the same sofa that Michonne is sitting on. There’s a cushion space between them, but Andrea aids in eliminating that by curling her legs up beside her. She takes a long swig from her bottle and turns to Michonne.

“If you weren’t here right now, what would you be doing?” she asks, and Michonne purses her lips.

“Truthfully?”

Andrea nods her head.

“I’d be out.”

“With friends?”

“Probably not.”

“Alone?”

Michonne smiles faintly and shakes her head, quietly adding on, “Not for long.”

Andrea’s smile widens. She’d thought as much. She casts a curious gaze over the woman beside her and drums her fingers against the neck of her bottle. Michonne is a beautiful woman; Andrea doubts she’d have to try hard to entice a date.

(It’s probably not a date that Michonne is looking for, and Andrea’s stomach warms at the fact that this woman is sitting on her sofa and drinking her beer, not out there looking for somebody to keep her company tonight. Vaguely, she wonders if Michonne thinks she’s already found somebody, and her cheeks heat.)

Michonne catches the faint flush and her smirk deepens. She waits for Andrea to recover, but it doesn’t come naturally. The phone on the arm of the other sofa starts buzzing again, and Andrea lets out a groaned sigh as she sets her beer down to reach for it. She’s frowning, this time, and turns the phone off after silencing the call.

At Michonne’s questioning gaze, she supplies, “Sorry. He knows not to call.”

“I thought you said there was no guy,” Michonne says, and Andrea shakes her head. That’s not what she’d said, and both of them know it, but Michonne is subtler in her methods of delving for information.

“It’s… complicated,” she tries, and Michonne nods her head like she understands.

“He screwing someone else?”

“Technically, me.” Andrea lets out a defeated sigh and shrugs. “I saw him out with a boy – a teenager – and his wife with her stomach out here.” She wraps her arm around an invisible pregnancy bump, and then drops it back to her legs, hand slapping against her thighs.

“He told you he was single?” Michonne asks, sipping her beer, and Andrea shakes her head again.

“I didn’t ask.” She shrugs her shoulders, expression souring. “Didn’t think I had to.”

“Mm.”

Andrea sighs and grabs her beer, sitting back against the sofa with it. She readjusts the position of her legs so that her feet are almost poking into Michonne’s thigh; not quite touching her, but close enough to feel the warmth through her jeans.

“Listen to me, revealing all this,” she smirks. “You’re not gonna offer anything up?” Michonne’s lips lift in the smallest smirk Andrea’s seen, but there’s mirth in her eyes. “Okay, okay, keep me guessing,” she shrugs, and then narrows her eyes. “Just don’t tell me you and Daryl are—?”

She looks horrified at the idea, and, for a second, so does Michonne. Then Michonne lets out a barking laugh and shakes her head, sending her dreadlocks swaying about her shoulders.

“No. _God_ , no.” She’s still smiling, as though Andrea deserves to see it, now that she’s made her laugh. “We met through mutual friends. And I’ve arrested his brother a couple’a times, too.”

She says it like it’s nothing, but Andrea’s eyes light up at this new piece of information.

“Police Officer, huh?”

Michonne holds herself just slightly taller, straightening out the kink in her back. She takes a slow sip of Bud and eyes Andrea with the hint of a smile. She looks so damn authoritative all of a sudden that Andrea’s surprised that she never made a guess at her job earlier.

“I ever tell you I have a thing for the uniform?” she jokes, and Michonne lets out a snort of laughter and looks away. If Andrea didn’t know any better, she’d suspect she was embarrassed. “So how did you end up here, _Officer_? Your plan for picking someone up for the night isn’t going very well.”

“I’d say it's going better than expected,” Michonne says, and takes a long, slow sip of her drink. It’s so focused that Andrea can’t take her eyes away from where her lips press against the rim of the bottle, and then Michonne’s words register, and her eyes jerk up to the other woman’s.

Had she heard that right? She tips her head forward slightly, and Michonne just raises her eyebrows a little, until they’re both faintly smirking at the other. This woman is trying to pick her up in her own goddamn house, Andrea thinks, and hell, it might just be working.

“Mm, I don’t think I’ve had enough beer for this,” she grins, and follows through with a few large swigs from her bottle. Michonne follows suit, until they’re both finishing their second beer, and Andrea has to remind herself that she should probably not drink so much considering the meagre dinner she’d eaten only hours before.

She’d planned to order take-out once everyone got around here, but now she hardly feels like bothering. Besides, the night just got interesting.

“You want another?” Andrea asks as she stands, empty bottle in hand.

Michonne nods her head, pushing herself up from the sofa, and together they make their way through to the open-plan kitchen. Michonne slides her empty bottle across the counter, where their previous three have been placed, and leans her back against the counter top as Andrea bends into the fridge.

She resurfaces with a bottle of red wine, and hands it across to Michonne to inspect while she gathers two glasses.

“How’s that?” she asks, and Michonne unscrews the cap and sways the neck of the bottle just beneath her nose.

“You trying to get me drunk?” she counters, but Andrea only grins and sets two wine glasses down on the counter beside her. Michonne pours them out large enough quantities, and Andrea’s eyebrows raise high on her forehead.

“You trying to get _me_ drunk?” she repeats, but claims one of the glasses for her own and takes a sip.

“What if I was?” Michonne asks, but with a look on her face that Andrea knows she’s bluffing.

She takes a slow sip from her glass and tilts her shoulders up in a delicate shrug, saying finally, “I’d say you needn't bother.”

Michonne watches her – gauging the moment. She takes a sip from her drink, if just to occupy herself, to give herself a reason to be silent, and then lowers the glass from her lips.

“That so?” she asks quietly, and Andrea sets her wine glass down with a small nod. She angles her body towards Michonne’s, and Michonne manages to get her glass on the counter before Andrea’s lips are on hers.

It’s a delicate kiss – a hesitant kiss – as though Andrea is half expecting her to change her mind and push her off. Michonne makes sure that her glass is far enough on the counter that she won’t knock it off, and then grasps at Andrea’s hips, pulling the other woman into her until she collides against her chest with a blunt huff of air.

Andrea smirks against her mouth, but the change in angle has her open to deepening the kiss. Michonne’s tongue traces her bottom lip, and then Andrea is sliding her own against her, drawing her tongue into her mouth. She tastes like beer and wine and _maybe this isn’t such a great idea_ , but that last one is easy enough to ignore when Michonne’s hands are creeping up the front of her shirt.

Two dark hands reach up to cup her breasts, and Andrea moans like she hasn’t been touched in months.

“Fuck,” she hisses, pressing a thigh between Michonne’s and effectively backing the other woman up against the counter. She drops her mouth to Michonne’s throat, tasting sweat and perfume, and she has the sudden urge to bite down, to take as much of Michonne into her mouth as she can, but refrains.

“Do you want to stop?” Michonne asks, squeezing her hands around Andrea’s breasts again, admiring the way they fit so perfectly within her grasp.

“No.” It comes out like some kind of desperate moan, and Andrea’s cheeks flush red in embarrassment.

Michonne puts it down to the kiss, when she sees them, as Andrea drags her back in with a hand at the back of her neck. She’s kissing her like she might never get to do this with anybody again in her life, and pressing so close that Michonne is certain the counter is going to leave a mark in her back from how hard she’s stuck against it, but with that thigh between her legs, a near perfect friction, she’s struggling to care about any of that.

Andrea almost lets out a cry of disappointment when Michonne’s hands leave her breasts, but seconds later they’re sliding down to cup her ass, dragging her body impossibly closer, and Andrea moans against Michonne’s mouth again. She presses her ass back into her hands and, taking the hint, Michonne _squeezes_.

Andrea’s mouth parts from hers with a shuddering breath. When Michonne squeezes again, she whimpers.

“Reckon I found your sweet spot,” Michonne grins, and Andrea glares up at her faintly. She says something that might be _shut up_ , and presses their mouths back together, but now that Michonne’s found what makes Andrea’s entire body shudder against her, she isn’t giving it up.

She squeezes and palms, and at one stage even slaps Andrea’s ass so hard that she cries out, and Andrea worries that she might come from this alone. She’s barely been touched yet and she’s a mess, grinding against Michonne’s thigh with the kind of desperation that is making her jeans increasingly uncomfortable.

It’s only when Andrea pulls back to maybe guide what they have going on here towards her bedroom that any real problem arises. Something that sounds awfully like her intercom starts buzzing from the living room, and Andrea stares at Michonne with an awful, perplexed expression on her face until it dawns on her.

The others – her invited guests – are _just now_ making an appearance.

Her jaw goes slack, a short huff of disappointment coming from her mouth, and Michonne just closes her eyes for a moment and swallows. She releases her hold on Andrea’s ass and slowly manoeuvres them away from the counter. They’re no longer hip-to-hip and Andrea feels the loss as keenly as if all the heat in her apartment had suddenly vacated through an open window.

“I can’t believe it,” Andrea whispers as her intercom keeps on buzzing, and Michonne just smirks a little and shakes her head. For a second, she considers pretending that she’s not in, but then catches the look on Michonne’s face and realises that this, at least for now, is over.

“For the love of Christ,” she groans, and turns around to head back into the living room.

Michonne lingers behind in the kitchen. She turns to find her wine glass and takes a few healthy gulps, hearing Andrea’s half of a conversation over the intercom. She should’ve just gone out tonight, Michonne thinks, trying to displace the throbbing between her thighs. She could be at home, by now, in bed with someone as pretty as her host.

_Or maybe not_ , she thinks, stepping into the living room as Andrea opens her apartment door ready for her expected arrivals.

Her guests arrive with a string of greetings and apologies, Daryl first with a nod to acknowledge Andrea’s presence and a four-pack of cider in his hand. Maggie’s next, with Glenn attached to her hip.

“Sorry we’re late,” Maggie offers, pushing Glenn in through the door before her. “Daryl’s fault – his bike broke down. He had to call us to pick him up. I tried to get through to tell you, but your phone must be…”

Maggie seems to trail off there. She’s halfway to moving in for some kind of hug-kiss greeting, her cheek already turned for Andrea in preparation, when she catches sight of her friend’s dishevelled appearance.

“Haven’t heard from Shane,” she says, frowning, and she looks at Andrea like she’s trying to piece together a puzzle. For a second, a look of horror comes over her face. “He’s not already here, is he?”

“What? No.” Andrea shakes her head. “It’s just been me – and Michonne.”

Maggie’s eyes flash at that, and her head snaps around to confirm that there is one other person within the apartment with her. All at once, she gets the largest grin on her face that Andrea’s ever seen, and turns back to her friend with a look so smug that it sends Andrea reeling.

“Michonne, huh? That Daryl’s friend?”

“Yes,” Andrea offers slowly, narrowing her eyes, and Maggie finally moves in to kiss her cheek in greeting.

While she’s still close, she pokes Andrea in the ribs and whispers, “Honey, you better fix your lipstick, or the entire world’s gonna know what you’ve been up to back here.”

Andrea pulls back, horrified, but Maggie (looking far too pleased with herself) doesn’t linger behind. Andrea watches as she greets Michonne, her stomach knotting, and quickly turns around to close her apartment door.

_Goddamn_ , she thinks, pressing a hand to her mouth, and moves through to the kitchen under the guise of fetching more beer. Sure enough, bent so that she can see her face in her toaster, she sees her lipstick has smudged past the corners of her lips. She hurries to fix it, and threads her fingers through her hair while she’s there, but try as she might to fix up her appearance, she can do nothing for the blush that clings to her cheeks.

“Hey, Andrea, you got beer back there or are you brewing it from scratch?” Glenn calls through, and Andrea straightens up and turns around just in time to see Michonne entering the kitchen.

It feels barely large enough for the two of them, and only closes in as Michonne steps closer. The other woman helps herself to the fridge, pulling out three beers, and sending Andrea a look that’s partly concern, partly disappointment.

Andrea likes to think she sees a little longing in her eyes, too, and it has her spurring forward to grasp Michonne’s wrist before she can leave the kitchen. The other woman turns back to her, expectant, and Andrea wets her lips.

“They’ll be here a few hours, tops,” she says, keeping her voice low so that the others can’t overhear. “After that, if you wanted to—stay—?”

“Andrea, c’mon, we’re dying of thirst out here!”

Andrea closes her eyes, but opens them in time to see Michonne’s grin – the one that’s so large that it shows a hint of teeth; it makes Andrea feel like she’s just accomplished something momentous.

“I could stay,” she answers, nodding her head, and Andrea has to bite down on her bottom lip to keep from grinning so hard.

“Andrea—”

“Alright, it’s coming,” she finally calls out, and takes the two glasses that she and Michonne had been drinking from earlier. “You’d have thought people so desperate for alcohol would’ve arrived here on time.”

With a grin, she bumps her hip into Michonne’s and slips past her into the living room, and if she spends the entire night clock-watching until Maggie, Glenn, and Daryl eventually decide that it’s getting late?

Well… who can really blame her?


End file.
